"bravo" poems
*I want to be politically correct
But the husband spoke and said
Why baby you said what you said
She replied because you are
using your mouth
instead of your hands
If you know what I mean
Start to clean .. Do the carpet
Do the bathroom ..
Good man .. You are my hero
Nice ... how did u do that fast !!
Bravo.. Oh baby .. You are ****
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
Shabash
Shābāsh (Hindi: शाबाश, Urdu: شاباش, Punjabi: ਸ਼ਾਬਾਸ਼, Bengali: শাবাশ, Telugu: శబాష్) is a term used in the Indian subcontinent to signal commendation for an achievement, similar in meaning to
bravo and kudos.
……………………………………………
a poem writ sometimes, oft,
snaps back,
I was surprising recipient
of a commendation in language
I knew not
the poem spoke well
of broken boundaries,
between in this instance,
Jew and Muslim,
capturing a momentary parting
of the seaways and
walls of misbelief
and mischief,
normally employed
to keep our divisions,
parted perpetually
I’ve decided to begin to
use shabash now,
my ‘go to’ word
from now on,
a small quiet way
to say
well done
it starts with one word,
a stretching hand across
the face fence,
imagining John Lennon’s
imagine-world,
who lay dying when I was
a young father of thirty,
me residing less than a
mile away from each other
little could I imagine then that
poetry would pick me at all,
especially to write of words
in dialects I don’t speak,
but imaging their pastel colorations
flying by in gentle breezes,
eager to be grabbed,
plucked from the air,
tongued and loved
so!
when I say to you,
in the softest spoke,
shabash!
to all of us,
for choosing this path,
using your words in
every dialect,
to spread the imagination
of good will
8-4-2019
10:10 am
S.I.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
let us toast,
my dear,
to making it this far.
even with our tortured minds
and glazed eyes;
hell,
who would've guessed it?
//
it's a good thing you don't wear mascara in public.
then again,
maybe it doesn't really matter.
you only cry when you're alone.
and i'm sure you're more broken than you seem,
though you still manage to get up and
plaster a smile
onto your cold, blank face
each dreary morning.
//
i am not the poster child of happiness,
or wealth,
or intelligence.
(they don't know that, though.)
failure is in my veins,
mistakes written into my skin
with permanent marker --
the same one they use
to write all those A+s.
//
is it really faking
if we believe it, too?
bravo,
bravo,
look how good we've gotten --
believing our own
little
white
lies.
but little white lies
never hurt nobody.
//
right?
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
the narrative does not cling to classicalism of stating whether the pronoun usage is either singular or plural or both to allow an armchair of expression; after all... there's enough for us to bypass the classical philosophical debate about subject and object, simply investigating pronoun usage in relation to singularity or pluralism.
there’s a theory where poetry came from,
one read: cleopatra wanted to hear sweet-nothings
calibrating a razor with a viper’s kiss...
another read: she báthory?
she báthory? she the one that turned milk into blood?
she can burn in hell.
i thought we were un-dialectical in the realms of concern?
no... you see... poetry came from punctuated-impressionism...
or a fear of it... punctuation of course, not from the impressionism...
poets fear punctuation...
give them a semi-colon
and
they
treat
it
like a sidelined line of verse.
this is poetry in mathematical equations:
i had a pear(,)
it was a spare(.)
i had a care for traffic(-)
so i missed( )
the expressions and started using an obelisk to quarter up the mammoth
into chop suey...
poets simple say: next line! when prose says next paragraph
and the prized execution of the 100m sprint . . . (.)
that’s universal alpha romeo with alfa bravo charlie delta (echo)...
come on in the u-turn... give us a smile......... :),
poets says... i need breathing space
without sentenced timing of silence, for the toad to feed inspiration
and envy!
no wonder you came with the alpha - zulu
alphabet given that you used ɪɡ and zoʊ...
so tell me... where’s this copernican west upside down
(this heliocentric west with east being the big bang)?!
i'd swear the thing stopped orbiting in circles
and a thing that's on it's thought started to become
orbital... a fashion sense of the 60s 70s 80s 90s repeated -
that's right, the whole thing became heliocentric
and we became narcissists instead of solipsists
in the geocentric system of worked-up plagiarism
with adequate excuses.)
it's here it the poets apprehensive of punctuation symbology
and instead writing "sparingly,"
to write, e.g.:
i
hate
this
love
affair
claimed
to
be
the
world...
i
rather
chisel
chequers
into
geometry
of
x4
90º.
makes sense poets begot fear of
punctuation and not grammar, they
serviced to explore nothing else,
leaving grammar open long enough to *****
mathematics in... remember...
poets are firstly concerned with punctuation...
secondly with grammar...
philosophy for poets is grammar;
**** i'm um um so drunk i'll need to revise.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
What I thought things will be before I met you?
I thought am lost,
I thought I left all alone...
I lost faith in love
But you made me believe that the is always a way for broken hearts.
When I first saw you..
I glanced on you as if it was superglue that holds our eyes,
Truth is it wasn't superglue
It was just super you.
Handsome of mine.
You are my all in one package..
I found something inside of you I thought I will never find..
Handsome of mine...handsome of mine...
Bravo babe...you handsome.
Handsome of mine.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
there's no rip cord --
your stuck in this stinking shell,
success measured by inches,
lipstick badged for lions,
punchlines thrown like lettuce
at the bravo males,
there's no rip cord --
the evaluation preemptive,
a crooked eyebrow and a sigh
with the lights on,
a slow grind of inadequacy
leading to a clumsy spew,
there's no rip cord --
so most bludgeon bashful cheeks
with wedding bands --
a life locked in rolling pupil sheets,
a kid, a fence, a lawyer, and
an itchy trigger finger
stirred and served with
a green olive.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 2:52 PM UTC
Bravo! My little lizard
In the stillness of night
When the cacophony is dead
And men keep to their comfort
And all creatures make a comeback
Thou creep to my wall
And hunt for your preys
Thou alone in our world
Walk dauntless of shadows and ghosts
In my bed I lie
Watching thy journey
And that pushes me out of my bed early
To earn my livelihood under the burning sun
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
you were laid up in guadalupita
with camelia la tajena from la junta
and her tonto from la plata-
hiho-yo
shootin' tequila with pancho villa
jefe of the bandidos mc locos
- tweakin and twerkin chicas and cholos
and vatos ridin' with the vagos -
they were singing -
"*con cuerno de chivo y bazooka en la nuca
volando cabezas a quien se atraviesa
somos sanguinarios, locos bien ondeados
- nos gusta matar*"
you were kickin - breathing quickened
- bravo television tunnel visioned
to the tonto/pancho episode
en camera - exposed
pronto - camelia shot her tonto
dead - a perfect rose upon his head -
i like killin - she said
hiho-yo, tonto
we sang narcocorridos
all night long -
on the blue mesa.
r ~ 10/25/14
*song excerpt from:
"Sanguinarios del M1” (Bloodthirsty Men of the M1)” (2010)
"Translation: "With “goat’s horn” (AK-47) and bazooka at our necks/Sending heads flying if anyone tries anything/We’re bloodthirsty, crazies deep in the scene/We enjoy killing..."*
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
The tangible entity of consciousness is fleeting
Scene:
A elegant party but not quite extravagant
Clinking wine glasses echo through transparent walls
Twenty-two hundred lulls over the city like that of a shadow
This isn’t an ungodly hour nor is this a typical night
It starts when She enters in a red gown that elongates her figure
A pianist smirks in the corner — a grin that’s almost sinister
The clinking of wine glasses abruptly stops when its replacement of grim notes fills the glass house
The attendants still seem cheerful
(How peculiar?)
A stranger pulls her into a waltz but his eyes look hauntingly familiar
Unbenounced to her, He too dances with a stranger
Both on separate sides of the glass room
Both dancing with the unknown
Yet each pair seems to recognize some prominent feature
Nostalgic for what has never been
(How do you preserve a memory in reality?)
Through the glass house mirrors sit in obscure angles
One could see that within each reflection He and She were projected into the other room
Each glance towards the mirrors posed no questions
For both pairs seemed identical
Now their lives may have been content in accepting this dance with a “stranger” I suppose
But that was not the plan of this party
For guests grew tired of sipping on Beaujolais and listening to solem tunes
The pianist presented a different song, more lively yet equally eerie
Their feet paced with the new rhythm which called for a spin
(An act as dramatic as such was only proper for the scene)
With a grand gesture She turns, finally seeing the glass barriers
And for the first time that night He and She were face to face
A perfect dilemma to entertain an audience
In a frenzy She tried to speak
“I love you”
“I love you”
“I love you”
But each plea for affection deemed futile
For the grin on His face became that of the pianist
Her emotions were a downward spiral of gray shaded confusion
And with a sinister laugh He (or he) smashed the glass, shredding all source of reality
He was the hallucinogen and She was angry at him for making Her feel
And each guest cheered “bravo” demanding an encore
But this tragedy, dear friends, has come to the end
She’ll never know how the stars look where he is
(Is such a loss truly a loss?)
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
Bravo! We've made it the to end!
With help from my favorite friend.
Musical mental volleying left the stage rent.
Myself, face down hours later, spent.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
so many loud yelps
barking voices
clacking at each other
believing that their ignorance
and unabashed rudeness
will get results
hurray for the strong shouldered
head held high
who ignore such brazen brashness
of the moronic
bravo to you
that can stop an imbecile
dead in his tracks
by a stone cold
even gazed
eye meet eye
stare
stopping the foolish without uttering a word.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
Down fickle street
they ride jalopy's just for fun.
Hoot at the cyclist , gerrymander the Vue.
I spy grief hurtling down,
plume grey from the exhaust.
We're no wiser, no leaner
ingesting your worn speed pedals
bravo.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
It's the pose that will set all the boys from the men,
When they shed all their clothes and you see them, and then,
One of two things will happen upon seeing this pose,
You could run like the devil, or shed all your clothes,
Now ladies, you will know what i mean when i say,
If you dont know him well, then you must run away,
As such a bold move can only be tried,
By a man that you love, and a will to be tied, ahem,
But if ,luckily,like me your man is **** Welsh and keen,
Then you must mount that great band wagon, if you know what i mean,
This bold pose known as "The Naked Man" is centuries old,
So lets keep it alive ladies, dare to be bold,
Let's encourage our men to ditch all their clothes,
So that we can enjoy the lovely naked man pose,
Standing tall, chest out and hands on his hips,
Telling you to come over without moving his lips,
You can feel that you're blushing, and your hearts beating fast,
Bravo, naked man pose, bashfullness is dead, AT LAST!!!!
(c) eileen mcgreevy 2010
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:08 AM UTC
By the run of wine, by Champagne's flow,
Swine did dine and watch the show,
'tween Squelch and Squeal, they Screamed, "Bravo!"
As merry went, did jolly go,
They drink their drinks, they oinked along,
To cabarets enchanting song,
So hypnotized, it won't be long,
'til Something goes horribly wrong....
For how were the jolly hogs to know
That butchers sat in the fifth row?
As blades grew sharp, their haste did grow,
Impatient to get on the go,
The sows were deafened by the tune,
The boars blinded by drunkards view,
But tact is what the butchers do,
But time at hand is profit due...
So nice the price of pork these days,
And chops and ribs are all the craze,
A roast in beer with honey glaze...
Makes fortunes for the butchers blades.
Had the swine been wise, for moments thought,
To greed they are cash to caught,
They could have run, they could have fought
And not been swine to the onslaught,
But they danced and sang, stupid and heavy
As butchers killed the swine of many,
That now sit in pieces, at a deli,
Their wage in wallet, meat in belly.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:36 AM UTC
. what's the difference between
thieves, and magicians?
not much...
both have quick hands...
and an awake,
yet asleep public communal
presence...
the thief has a public of
the victim,
and the c.c.t.v. "stage"...
the magician?
has a public of the crowd,
and the "dajjal" stage of
a camera replenishing
a concept of:
not enough public...
thieves and magicians are
bedfellows...
you allow one to flourish...
the antithesis will come
along, and in an indiscriminate
fashion...
allow the "magic" / "thieving"
to take place...
what is a magician,
a public figure... compared...
to a thief?
i can't see the difference...
the audience was fooled
by the magician...
the individual was fooled
by the thief...
are they... so much unlike
each other?
magicians can own
a theater stage...
thieves, sometimes... just sometimes...
own the, basic...
pointlessness of english
c.c.t.v. mechanics,
to make police officers make:
a follow-up investigation...
oh, but i have genius
interrogation practices...
no one wants to listen to...
like 10 hours straights of listening
to stefan molyneux...
or 48 hours, sleep deprived...
listening to BBC 24 hour news reels...
that **** could crack anyone...
what the americans did to the Iraqis?
last time i heard...
they blasted the slayer oeuvre
down headphones into their ears...
Americans... feeding conquered
Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre?
BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE!
and didn't the encore come?
******* retards...
crows feeding seagull chicks
with sinew and
regurgitated scavenger meat!
if only they played them some
Bach...
i'm pretty sure...
the Iraqis would still be left...
disorientated...
but the American army "interrogators"...
ha ha!
played them the slayer oeuvre!
WEE-TARDS!
anyone... and i mean anyone:
will relieve themselves as being
"tortured": doubly charged up,
and ready to ingest hyper-coffee
in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic
of ingesting amphetamines
(pervitin) -
night-raids... the londoonoirnischt
blitz, sloth krieg...
ya ya yawn...
urgh... burp...
and always... those poncy -
english, gay, aristocratic men...
and their... psychotropic women...
so what's the difference between
a common thief...
and a spectacle magician?
one "owns" cctv footage,
the other owns a stage...
yet both share a: quicksilver
take on, what cannot be
interpreted in either handwriting
or stenography...
hmm...
can't be sure whether
both could be considered legal.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
block me if
you will
for I will never be satisfied
trite me cut with a boredom knife,
hackney me to death with kitsch,
migraine me with banal,
bromide me with the pedestrian,
if you can only sing the exhausted, old familiar,
drain me not with your jejune
write me to soar,
pleasure me with convincing adjectives
of the posterous,
never before heard, untill my lips parse your words
write me to vex
so my sides, clutching
in the most desirable agony
you want to boast of how you cut?
then cut me if you can,
bravo
carve your initials into my brain,
so when I read your words,
I scream I weep I confess
you have vexed me,
in the places where
the very few dare tread,
in the places
where good poetry goes...
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
i guess there are
some people
who just don’t realize
how preposterous they sound when
using social media.
yeah, maybe you’re one. no one
is safe from suspicion:
-the comedians (their own biggest fan types)
the witty commentators
jumping in from the far corner.
(you wonder how
someone who learnt every word they know
from about six Archie comics is allowed to
use social networking)
-oh and the girls
who post new selfies
every day. (in fact there’s one,
i swear, posts so often
so regular
i barely need a watch.
“here’s the three-fifteen cleavage shot.”
—she’s long since been hidden!)
and wait here’s that
fella who speaks out about injustices;
firecrackers taped in a doberman’s mouth,
which is awful, sick, repulsive—and bravo
for making the universe aware, i applaud thee,
but it’s the rambling included about what you’d do
if you ever caught them
(curbstomping, mutilating, beatings)
that gives
me goosebumps.
i don’t wanna see this kid’s mug in
the paper next week/point & say
“christ i knew it!”
..so maybe keep the ****** fantasy off the web, eh?
& then of course the weirdness
too weird to
properly recall
example:
an acquaintance's call for attention “i need a hug :(“
and the random girl
probably th’sister of a friend
(which is bizarre in its own right,
adding a friend's younger sibling..
but i
won’t bother delving
there tonight)
who replies:
*“hey you should come here instead
and see the skunk that just came
by my window
if you wanna?”*
—what is this absurdity?
and hey here’s an answer
to your original call:
internet hugs don’t work.
computers don’t hug in binary, man.
0110101110101101111001010010101011011010110101110101010101
>—O—<
—i’ll never understand it.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 1:42 AM UTC
Baby you're killing me with your moves
Your easy gait and **** grooves
Oh gosh! but I want to sway with you
Be tossed and turned, my beau.
Your moving, **** image
Is in my mind through out the day
Yay! it didn't help the adrenaline rage
As in my mind with you I sway.
Oh my! but that body I so adore
Now I'm drooling so much more
Johnny Bravo, step aside, step aside
My man has a body that's driving me wild
With his easy gait and **** grooves
I'm sure ladies will come in droves
Shhh! but I'll let them in
And gladly kick their shin!
6.27.14
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
Ya know, I devoted two years of my life to you;
Yeah I wasn't perfect,
Yeah I had other flings,
Yeah I was making decisions to leave you.
But you
Left me
You left me
YOU left me.
(Bravo)
We Weren't even together-
But the love was,
Oh, the love the was there.
The love of a confused will;
hunting for who knows what.
I can still see - your eyes twinkle like the love ridden star song
I can still see your tireless dedication to try and figure out a puzzle
that doesn't want to be solved
I can still see our chemistry, that I will never see again.
A last good bye is in order
But
I will
Just sit
And watch
You and this guy,
And your smile. From a Distance;
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
since i turned into a nocturnal creature i’ve changed a bit,
i started the theological arithmetic:
(right hand) thumb, index, middle finger(s) -
january february march,
ring, pinky & pinky (left hand) -
april may june,
ring middle index (left hand)
july august september -
thumb (left hand) thumb and index (right hand)...
of yes, intelligent design...
now make a hole using your thumb & index finger,
then ensure your thumb goes in & out from that whole...
like god, say: oh **** i forgot the piston!
guess what’s the slang term for a russian in polish?
kacap.
guess what’s the slang term for a german in polish?
szwab (shvab) /
i know, i too wish it was sax...aphone.
guess what’s the slang term for a dwarf in polish?
karakan.
but i said, there are really two branches from the 20th
century growing into the 21st century,
there’s the proustian branch that’s a cul de sac...
and there’s the joycean branch, that leads to ezra pound et al.,
finnegans wake (which i have read) i can a 50p with an invention
of a terminology: uncoded phoneticism, i.e.
alpha bravo charlie delta echo, only because:
prirates’ aye, eye and lie and high sounded pretty much the same
even though they were spelled differently.
uncoded phoneticism means you use a coding of language
from thought / silence in a way that elevates it
from the standard usage, from novelty interests
of a righteous narrator crafting new characters...
of course your writing will appear chaotic... but in reality
it will not be... trust me... i simulated paranoid schizophrenia
for seven years... fooled three psychiatrists
and regained a chance to provoke.
nicholas ii is smiling at me from a banknote i own,
and i have a kopek’s worth of currency from dostoyevsky’s times.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
Keep up the good work
We heard that before
Forevermore the
everlasting time
No riddles just Google
investing in giggles
Magnifico's eyes
on the tiger
Just a spoon full of sugar
Her Meds after
In the afterlife sounds
"Promising more
Love compromising"
A magnifying glass
change your seating
When your chair
Overwhelms you
Take a City bus
Real Estate going
stale bread the
big chill
Houses only a number
What a chill pill
We need more money Bills
Big number head
Magnifying glass cracked
She's been Sherlocked
The snow hibernation
The whites of your eyes
camouflaged feeling raged
Paying your dues
Being Recognized
Dying has no Guarantee's
Those hot buns on the run
So frightened
So fast and furious
Magnificence
The scent of a women
Making no sense
Bigger than life crazy
Never a time to be lazy
Like old bones, you fall
Do you envy the one
Superpower rich you
have the pocket watch
Success chair but the
poor soul was a mess
in her bigger size dress
He was selling magnifying
glass sales rep hippo
magnifying lips bravo
Your home is your
Castle
Conceptualization
Big Wow Graphic Artist
So magnifying but sweet
lying con-artist
Computer monster chair
She left her magnifying glass
On his X files and wrong
wife's finger
Such dreaming world is
streaming can a chair you
waited for all your life
feel so wanted
he's wanted all over
Is your wish granted?
All tacky glue another
clue little boy blue
One last shooting star
Magnificence by far
To be cherished and
remembered and loved
But you're still holding the
magnifying glass
Let's be blessed things
will pass
We will always hear the ring
Forever young "Go Bling"
She will always be young
To Sing
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 12:01 PM UTC
Zed Alpha Alpha
Bravo Charlie
Whiskey Whiskey Delta
Zed Alpha Alpha
Bravo Charlie
Whiskey Whiskey Delta
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 3:05 PM UTC
I lean against a stucco building
that has a turquoise whale painted
on the sidewalk in front and pop in
a piece of Wrigley’s as vendors
unload eggplant and plump onions,
two women walk past, one isn’t
wearing a bra and the other
should be wearing two,
I see a neighbor listening as three
Jamaican bucket drummers argue over
cigars, my neighbor nods and flips his
Pall Mall into the street, a gal walking
a Lhasa Apso snuffs the cigarette with
her heel, the dog hikes on a crate of
cabbage sitting atop a guitar case;
bravo to you God, a better morning
I could not have lived.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC